From Ankles to Waist
by x Rajah x
Summary: MarkRoger FRIENDSHIP. The Boho Boys are forced to go shopping for pants... which results in a PANTS-themed parody of What You Own. Featuring Roger's nature documentary, severe lack of plaid, and feeling like a dead goldfish. Another borderline crackfic.


Title: From Ankles to Waist

Genre: Humor/Friendship

Rating: T for language and RENT-like situations. (XD)

Summary: MarkRoger FRIENDSHIP. The Boho Boys are forced to go shopping for pants... which results in a PANTS-themed parody of What You Own. Featuring Roger's nature documentary, severe lack of plaid, and feeling like a dead goldfish. XD

Notes: This one's very strange, folks.

I recommend reading it while listening to What You Own, only start the song at the first line of the parody song. I did that after I wrote it when I was re-reading and it was quite comical.

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"It's all quite annoying really, having to go shopping for pants. If it had just been the fact that Mark had spilled a whole pitcher of coffee all over his stack of freshly washed slacks, I would have refused to go. But when Collins came back from the laundromat with the Plaid Pants of Glory faded a disgusting shade of pink, that was the last straw. And now, here I am, lost in a sea of clothing. Somewhere, among the heaps of crap, an albino lurks," I narrated slowly and dramatically, creeping through the aisles of pants at the thrift store.

"Fuck you, Roger. Don't narrate my hunt for pants like a stupid nature documentary."

"But what's this?" I paused, cocking my head to one side. "I do believe I have heard the sound of the rare Pumpkin-Headed Albino Mofo... we must be getting close."

"Roger, stop it. You should be looking for pants too, you dumbass."

"Hark!" I stopped, dead in my tracks, pointing a shaking finger at him. "Alas, there it is... I must be cautious, I don't want to distress him..."

"ROGER!"

"Too fucking late." I stated flatly. Mark looked as if steam could spout from his ears.

"This creature is likely to tear me limb from limb if I don't shut the fuck up."

"Just pick out some pants." Mark growled.

"But I guess he's more afraid of me than I am of him, as most creatures usually are."

"GAAAAAAAAAHHHWWWWRRR!" Mark roared, lunging.

"HOLY fuck! And the Mofo strikes!" I shrieked, leaping back. "I could have lost a leg!"

"Speaking of legs..." Mark began slowly and calmly, realizing he was only fueling my fire. "That pair of pants on your sorry ass isn't going to be enough to live on... they are to ragged and have holes in them!"

"The Mofo retreats, perhaps unnerved that I haven't run away screaming..."

"Roger..." He warned.

"Aw, what a smart one! It knows my name!"

"JUST GO FIND SOME PANTS TO TRY ON!"

"Ooh, and it howls, the animalistic cry of a Pumpkin-Headed Albino Mofo is one of the most terrifying sounds known to man. People die sometimes after hearing it."

"Or go pants-less, it's your fucking choice."

"Mimi wouldn't mind."

"Pfft." He waved a hand. "Just humor me, alright!??!!" And he shoved a pile of pants into my arms. "Try these."

Bored of my TV show already, I nodded, "But this isn't over."

"I highly doubted it was."

"Attaboy." I clapped him on the shoulder, then began to examine the pants. With a slight gasp, I recoiled, shaking with fear. "NONE OF THESE ARE FUCKING PLAID, MARK!"

"I noticed."

"WELL??!!! WHAT THE FUCK, MARKY???!!! I NEED PLAID!"

Mark sighed. "I didn't see any plaid."

"NO PLAID???!!!" I screeched, feeling faint. "WHAT KIND OF FUCKING SADISTIC ASS DEPARTMENT STORE IS THIS?"

"Shut up." Mark said dryly. "This is why I hate shopping with you."

"No." I stated flatly. "Mark, this is a big deal. You've got to be shitting me if you say that there are no plaid pants in this store."

"That's not what I said. I said I didn't see any, so why don't you go look for some on your own instead of annoying me to the point of insanity?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked him pointedly. "Annoy Mark...or shop for pants.

What the fucking hell? I live to bother you."

"Really? I hadn't figured that out yet."

"You were always a little slow, Marky."

"THAT WAS SARCASM, ASSHOLE!"

I threw my hands up in defense. "Sheesh, man... settle the fuck down, I'll go look for pants." And with that, I dropped the large pile of pants he'd shoved into my arms on the floor and walked away.

"WHAT THE HELL? ROGER, I'M NOT CLEANING UP YOUR SHIT!"

"Well then it's a very good thing I didn't just shit on the floor of the department store!" I called back, already several racks away.

"Fuck you!" And he bent over to snatch the abandoned pants.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." And a store manager was before us. "I'd appreciate it if you kept the foul language out of our store, it taints the atmosphere."

"I'm so sorry," Mark apologized, shaking his head. "It won't happen again."

"Good." She said warmly. "Now, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yeah!" I piped up. "You can pull that large stick out of your ass and put some fucking plaid in your store!"

She glared at me. "Sir, I won't tolerate this kind of disrespect."

"Disrespect?" I questioned, striding over, as Mark stood silent. "Lady, the gods are fkg pissed at you. Plaid is holy, or didn't you know?"

"Sir... I'm sure we have something to suit your needs." She started, flustered.

"You'd better." I growled. "Or I'll go fucking insane."

She grimaced at my foul mouth and quickly added, "I'll go call the stockroom manager and see if there are any plaid pants in the back. For now, keep looking out here on the floor."

And she tittered off.

"Roger...!" Mark hissed. "That was so rude!"

"Shut up, Mark. That lady needed some sense knocked into her. Not having plaid pants is a terrible crime. I'm going to ask Joanne if I'm allowed to sue her fat ass."

"Just get some jeans." Mark suggested meekly. "I always thought the loud patterns of plaid were way to punk for you anyway."

"What the fuck do you know?" I asked. "Mark, those pants were my power. Without them, I feel like a dead goldfish."

"Ouch." He stated, looking amused.

"Fish out of water!" I remembered. "You know what I meant, Mark."

"Yeah." Mark admitted. "Well, listen, man... if you love those pants so much, why not wear them pink?"

"Because. Not wearing the plaid pants in their original state of holiness and glory is a blasphemous act that I could never commit. Damn, Mark, didn't you read the Principals for the Perfect Plaid Person?"

"That's a book?" He asked.

I slapped myself on the forehead in disgust. The boy's SO naive sometimes, I swear.

"Yes, Mark... it is the most beautiful piece of literature ever produced."

"I always liked _Beowulf_ and _The Illiad_." Mark said dumbly.

I wanted to sock him. "I feel SORRY for you, you deprived individual."

"Roger..." He stared at me for a long moment. "Go look for some pants."

"Found some." I grabbed the waistband of the nearest pair. "Can I go home now?"

"Roger, those are women's pants."

I looked at them more closely, and then yelled heatedly. "Dammit, Mark... you're so critical! I can't even fucking wear what I want because of you."

"Stop acting like a fool and find something you can wear without splitting the seams."

I sighed and turned to another rack. "Stop acting like a fool and find something you can wear without splitting the seams." I mocked in a high-pitched girly voice.

"ROGER!" He shouted.

"What, Mark? What the fuck do you want now? It's America, genius. I can't say what I want?"

He let out a long sigh, exasperated.

"Seriously, Mark... all you ever do is tell me what to do and what not to do. 'Roger, don't eat the vanilla scented candle' , 'Roger, you should probably stop drinking that Stoli', 'Roger, clean your mess up', 'Roger, make your bed.' and God forbid, 'Roger, have fun on your date with Mimi, be back by 11 and NO SEX!!!'"

"HEY!" He protested. "I never said that last one."

"I sense it coming."

"Whatever." He gave up and commenced searching for pants. "Go find some stuff to wear or don't. I won't tell you what to do."

"Thank you!" I said dramatically, shuffling away as he huffed.

"This is all so fucking dramatic." I heard Mark mumble. "Like a stupid reality show."

"Or a segment on Buzzline."

Mark scoffed, and began teasingly. "Hi. Mark Cohen for Buzzline... back to you Alexi! Coming up, Roger throws a hissy fit because he can't find any plaid pants."

At this point, I had withdrawn a lighter and was about to set a rack of pants on fire when I paused, my eyes falling upon a pair of pants. "Oh God, what am I doing?" I screamed, grabbing them off the hanger. "MARK, LOOK!"

And I held them high. They were BEAUTIFUL, I tell you. Perfect plaidy goodness, just waiting for an ass to warm them.

Mark shook his head, smiling. "Go try them on, I'm trying these on."

I was in the dressing room faster than he could blink.

He followed, dragging a massive pile of boring tan slacks.

It wasn't long before he tossed a pair over the stall door, into the stall where I was trying to squeeze my sculpted ass into those gorgeous plaid lower body coverings.

"Hey, fuck you, man!" I screamed, throwing it back over.

"It's your size!" He shot back. "I accidentally picked it up."

"It's fugly!" I screeched at him. "I mean, duh, Mark."

"Hey, those are the kind of pants I wear all the time."

"Case end point: Who has a girlfriend here?"

"Shut up." He moaned, and then he hissed between his teeth in apparent pain.

I rapped my knuckles again the side of the stall. "Don't hurt yourself, Marky."

"Too late..." He muttered. "These are WAY too tight."

"Then take them off!" I said, because it was obvious.

"I..." he started.

I cut him off, staring down at the waistband of my plaid pants. "WHAT THE FUCK? THESE ARE GIGANTIC ON ME! PLAID PANTS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE TIGHT! BOTH MEANINGS OF THE WORD! "

"Wear a belt?" Mark squeaked.

"WHEN HELL FREEZES OVER!"

I wanted to cry as I flung them against the stall door, pouting. "SHIT!"

"AH!" Mark winced.

"Take the damn pants off, Mark!" I yelled.

"I..." He stopped, and I imagined him blushing. "I... I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" I said, indignant, now outside the dressing room waiting to get the hell out of that fucking store. "Mark, you aren't two. I expect you to know how to undress yourself. Unless that's secretly the real reason Maureen dumped you, you didn't know how to take off your pants."

"No, it's not that." His voice was pathetic and whimper-like. "They're stuck."

"What?"

"The zipper's stuck, it won't budge."

I sighed loudly. "Mark..."

A small metallic noise. "THERE!... no, ahhhh... they're so small on me, they won't come off... they're STRANGLING ME, ROGER!"

I couldn't believe he was so fucking panicky about this. Even though he is Mark.

"Enough clowning around, Mark. Suck in your fat belly and take them off so we can get out of here."

"Suck in really deep..." He sang as he no doubt attempted to pull his stomach in. "There must be a way. The pants will come off, you won't die today! That lack of breath, that abdominal pain, is all a part of the game!"

I rolled my eyes.

"You're shopping for new pants, your afternoon will obviously suck."

"You're waiting for your dumbass roommate..." I added, "And you're BORED AS FUCK."

"And when you're shopping for new pants, at a New York department store, you might get sore!" I watched a pair of pant legs appear over the top of the stall.

"You got them off?" I asked, only too excitedly.

"Yup... I have a few more pairs to try on though."

"FUCK!" I stomped a foot.

As a few minutes ticked away, I resorted to thinking aloud. "I'm pants-less a lot these days..."I sang softly.

"A size bigger, can you believe that?" Mark said aloud, sounding pissed.

"Because I'm with Mimi everywhere." I mused to myself, ignoring him.

"Angel's cookies made me fat!" Mark yelled to me, emerging from the stall, brandishing the infamous too-tight slacks.

"Just loosen that waistband." I pointed to them.

"Just cinch your waist 'til you frown." Mark replied to me, indicating the plaid ones I still held in my arms.

"Just don't let go..." I murmured softly, mourning.

"Or they'll fall down!" We said together.

"You're shopping for pants, and you cannot find a single pair, you're shopping for pants,

'cause you have nothing to wear!" We re-entered the sales floor, highly disappointed.

"And when you're shopping for pants... and you cannot find a single pair... your ass is bare!" I pictured freezing even more once winter rolled around again, very disconcerted with that concept.

"So I own not a pair..." Mark ran his fingers down a rack boredly.

"I'll be fair, and wear... a paper bag!" I invented. "Better to do that... than sag!"

"What was it about those pants?" We crooned, remembering our lost loves. "Connection, hugging from ankles to waist!"

We turned to each other, throwing the pants into the discard heap. "For once, I had something comfortable to wear, at least." We sang together.

"For once I felt like a sexy beast!" Mark exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air as he addressed the ceiling, "Pants- I see you- me dancing in you, just like in my film!"

"Mimi." I burst out, thinking, "I see me, pants-less, forever, and you- my Mimi... you're in a thong!"

"Alexi-Mark." Mark mocked speaking into a phone. "Call me a weirdo. I need to find my own pants...I quit!"

"Plaid pants glory..." I muttered, "Mimi- your thong!"

"Shopping for pants!" We finished together, "And we cannot find a single pair, we're shopping for some pants...you have to be shrewd. And when you're shopping for pants, and you cannot find a single pair... you're basically screwed!"

"I'm so screwed!" Mark sang.

"You'll never get screwed!" I harmonized.

At that moment, the store manager returned, huffing and puffing and blowing houses down. (Only not really.) "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I asked you nicely to settle down and stop the ruckus, I'm afraid you are going to have to leave now. I'll show you to the door."

Mark stared down at his soiled pants, defeated, "Okay... Roger?"

But my eyes had fallen upon something beautiful.

There, in the racks, a stunning pair of tight jeans were hanging, bedazzled in sequins and sparkles.

My heart nearly gave out when I read that they were my size. "WAIT!" I screamed at maximum volume. "I have to have these."

So picture this: Mark and I on the subway ride home.

My arms laden with my purchase, I smiled brightly.

Mark scowled beside me as a beautiful young girl entered the train and sat beside him.

He brightened and said, "Hey... how are you?" in a friendly way.

The girl eyed the brown stains all over his pants and made a face. "Like, EW." And she stalked away to find another seat.

I patted Mark's shoulder and sang softly, "You'll never get screwed!"

He smacked me then.

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I never could fully explain to you where these lyrics came from.

It's too wild and crazy. So I hope it wasn't too dumb...

Well, I had fun writing this.

And the mental image of Roger... wearing Adam Pascal's sparkly ladyjeans made my life.

Admit it… that would be AMAZING. XDDD

I miss those jeans.

Too bad he can't wear them anymore! (Waaah!)

SO YEAH……Reviews? (Pretty please, unless you're about to flame me, meanie.)

P.S. Who's excited about Adam and Anthony in RENT '09? I AM!!!! (flails self around)


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